Owen Harper is Knocked Up
by Late October
Summary: Yep, our favorite irascible medic is up the duff! But how did it happen? MPREG  obviously , no slash.  Thanks to Quiet Time for my first review!  Follow her example, people!
1. An Unpleasant Surprise

Owen Harper was sick.

He retched violently into the trash bin in his autopsy bay once, and then again. After throwing up a third time, he finally removed his head from the receptacle and sat down on the cool concrete floor. He felt tired suddenly, and a bit shaky.

"Fuck, what is _wrong_ with me?" he wondered. He buried his face in his hands. Owen was glad that Jack was tucked up in his office and that the rest of the team had gone home. That was good, because the last thing he needed was to embarrass himself in front of everyone.

This bout of vomiting had come on suddenly and unexpectedly. It had been a normal enough day – well, about as normal a day as a Torchwood operative _could_ have. That morning he'd sedated Janet for some tests (he was developing a new, improved weevil spray); sat in on a staff meeting where he and the team discussed three new pieces of alien technology found in Cardiff bay; and finished typing up some autopsy notes. This week he'd been dissecting an alien corpse found in the woods thirty miles north of the city. Yep, a pretty average week. Maybe it was just something he ate. Pizza, coffee, and beer wasn't the healthiest diet, and although he was a doctor, Owen didn't do much to take care of himself. "Damn Jubilee's," hissed Owen as he grabbed his coat. He felt like shit, and he was going home to sleep. Screw his work; he'd finish it later. Right now all he could think about was lying down and getting some rest.

The next morning he overslept, but felt basically okay. On the way to work, he suddenly realized that he was very hungry. He stopped at a bakery to get a pastry or something. He couldn't decide between a croissant and a muffin and a bagel, so he got all three, and then picked up a dozen doughnuts too. He'd already eaten three by the time he'd paid and walked out the door.

At the hub, he went straight to his desk and pulled up the work he should have finished yesterday, absentmindedly eating all the time. After a while Tosh came by, eyeing the bakery box. "Owen, did you bring breakfast for all of us?" she asked sweetly. She opened the box to find it empty. "Oh," she said. "Nevermind. I should have known."

"Sorry… what?" said Owen. He looked at the box. "Bloody hell, I've eaten them all!"

Gwen walked by, laughing. "Oh, those things are addicting! Rhys can pack away ten at a time."

"I like the raspberry ones," said Tosh.

"I like those long pastries," said Jack. "You know, the ones with the cream inside …"

"Oh, shut up, Jack, you're disgusting!" said Owen. He felt a little silly for having eaten twelve donuts. What on Earth had possessed to eat so much? And at some point he'd also packed away the bagel, muffin, and croissant. This was not normal for him.

Soon Ianto came by with a cup of coffee. "After all that sugar, I thought you might be thirsty," he said.

Owen took one whiff of the fragrant coffee and last night's nausea came sweeping back. "Oh, get it away!" he moaned. But it was too late. Owen barely had time to grab the trash can before the doughnuts made a second appearance. Ianto jumped back to avoid getting specks of vomit on his carefully pressed suit. Jack came rushing over at the commotion.

"Jesus, Owen, what's wrong?"

"I don't know Jack, I think I've got the flu or something! I was sick yesterday, too."

"Hey, listen – why don't you just go home and get some sleep. Besides, we don't want you spreading your germs around."

"Yeah, okay," Owen acquiesced, grabbing his coat and bag to go home. When he finally arrived home after what seemed like an endless lunchtime rush hour commute, he drank a glass of water and fell into bed, fully clothed. He was so tired, so exhausted. This had to be the flu. He felt warm, and he couldn't stop shaking. "I'll be okay," he thought, "I just need some sleep."

And so Owen slept. He slept all day and into the evening. He woke up once to stagger into the kitchen to drink an entire half gallon of milk straight from the jug, and then he went back to sleep. He slept all night and into the morning. When he finally woke up, he'd overslept again. It was half past ten, and his cell phone was ringing.

When Owen stood up, he immediately knew that something was not right. He felt weird … different … off balance, somehow. On his way to the bathroom he caught a glance of himself in the mirror and froze. He stared at himself for several moments in disbelief. "Nooo," he moaned. "_Holy_ _shit_, what is happening to me?"

His stomach was enormous – it was large and rounded as if he were several months pregnant. And when Owen touched his distended belly and felt something kick his hand, he realized in horror that _he was_.


	2. How the HELL did this happen?

Owen rushed to the Hub as quick as he could. He'd thrown a loose coat over his enormous stomach in an almost-successful attempt to hide the unnatural bulge. It could have been his imagination, but it seemed that everyone he met on the way to work was staring at him, as if wondering what could be wrong with this person.

"Jack," he called loudly when he arrived. "I need to talk to you."

Moments later, the pair was in Jack's office with the door shut. Owen removed his coat, and Jack let out a long whistle. "Oh, and that's not all," said Owen. He took the captain's hand and placed it on his belly so he could feel the kicks too. There were several moments of silence before Jack asked, "Care to explain?"

"That's just the thing, I don't know! I woke up this morning and I was huge. I haven't done any tests, and … I don't know how it could have happened, but … I think I'm pregnant… with something."

"Yeah, I think so too," Jack grimaced. At least he wasn't freaking out. The good think about working for Torchwood was that when crazy shit happened to you, your coworkers were prepared to deal with it.

"Owen, what have you done lately that has been out of the ordinary?" Jack asked. "Any … romantic encounters with a suspicious 'person'?"

"Well, I haven't been stuffing aliens, if that's what you think!" snapped Owen.

"Do you have any memory loss? That could indicate an alien abduction."

"No, no. I can account for everything. The only thing weird was that I've been sick for the past two days, and that I've been awfully hungry. And tired."

"Okay, so what were you doing exactly two days ago?"

"Well, I started dissecting that alien body that we found in the forest." Jack raised an eyebrow. "Come on, Jack," said Owen, rolling his eyes. "Dissecting bodies doesn't knock you up!"

"Dissecting _human _bodies doesn't, but we're not talking about humans here. I think we need to take a look at the corpse more closely. It's possible that when you cut into the alien, you released some kind of spore. A lot of aliens reproduce parasitically."

After further tests, Owen discovered that he had indeed released a spore from the body. When he'd cut into the egg sac, it had released the tiny spore directly into the air – the spore was biologically programmed to enter the nearest living host, which just happened to be Torchwood's irascible medic.

"Oh no," moaned Owen. "Bloody Torchwood! Aliens, weevils, Cyberwomen, cannibalistic rustics – I know it's a dangerous job, but of all the occupational hazards … this has got to be the _worst_!"


	3. Everyone Makes Fun

"Oh … my … God," said a wide eyed Gwen. They were all gathered around the conference table to hear Owen's bizarre news. He'd just explained to the team why he was the size of a small moon and how he'd gotten that way.

"Poor Owen," said a very somber Ianto. "Up the duff and didn't even get to enjoy himself. I guess abstinence isn't 100% effective, after all."

Tosh suddenly started giggling. Soon Gwen and Ianto joined her; before long, even Jack was cracking a smile.

"Oi! This isn't funny!" shouted a flushed and embarrassed Owen. "There is an alien parasite growing inside of me! For all we know, it could burst its way out any second and devour us all, and you lot are having a laugh. Well, let's see how funny it is when Junior here turns Torchwood 3 into extraterrestrial baby food!"

"Owen!" said Gwen, who was doubled over laughing. "It's just … you're pregnant! And you should see your face! I've never seen you more terrified, and also … well, when you walk, you waddle a bit, and it's a riot."

"Oooh, he's angry now, Gwen!" giggled Tosh. "Look, his ears have gone all red."

"Jack!" Owen whined loudly. "They're makin' fun of me!"

"Okay, children, play nice!" ordered Jack. "Girls: stop laughing at poor, pathetic Owen, and Owen: quit being a douchebag."

"Good luck with that one, mate!" said Ianto.

"Well," said Owen angrily. "I personally think that everyone is missing the bigger picture here, which is that I'm PREGNANT with an ALIEN BABY!"

"Relax Owen, I'm on it," said Jack. He flipped open his cell. "I'm calling UNIT now: since you're our medic, and you obviously can't operate on yourself, they'll send a doctor along to remove it. Something like this happens every now and then – it's hard to fight extra-terrestrials without sucking up a bit of alien DNA every now and then – it's not really a big deal."

"Not a big deal!" spat Owen.

"Ianto!" said Jack, ignoring Owen. "Coffee for everyone, now! Except for Preggo here." Owen glared at the captain. "You go sit down until UNIT gets here; walking around will only make you go into labor faster."

"And exactly how, Jack Harkness, am I supposed to go into labor? In case you haven't noticed, I haven't got the right equipment for that bit."

"All the more reason for you to sit down and be still!" said Jack. "Yes," he said cheerfully, returning to his phone call. "This is Captain Jack Harkness of Torchwood 3. Could we borrow one of your surgeons, by any chance…"

Owen grumbled and waddled over to the sofa. He flopped down heavily on the faded cushions and crossed his arms. He was angry and grouchy. And a little hurt. He wasn't normally an emotional person – unless the emotion was anger – but he was a little upset by how his colleagues had treated him. After all, no one really knew exactly what they were dealing with; it could very well be deadly. At any rate, he'd been in a considerable amount of pain for two days, and no one seemed to care about that. There was no "How are you feeling, Owen?" or "Can I do anything for you, Owen?" Instead, it was only jokes and insults. And that cheeky Ianto! Boy, he'd like to give him a right smack!

Owen winced as a sharp pain resonated through his back. Thank God his nausea was gone, but now he was experiencing a whole host of other problems. His back had been hurting nonstop since he woke up this morning, his hormones were going haywire, and his ankles were sore and swollen. And he still felt exhausted, despite having slept a good solid twenty hours.

Owen shifted uncomfortably on the sofa. He felt restless and … itchy. Sore and itchy, between his legs. Owen groaned. What was it now? He shuffled to the bathroom to try to see what was wrong. When he got there, he realized in horror that a nasty, green fluid was running down the insides of his thighs, soaking his pants. And when he sat down and explored with his hands, he quickly discovered that this fluid was coming from a very tender, newly formed orifice that absolutely, positively did not belong there.

"_Shit_!" he hissed.

Just when he thought his day couldn't get any worse.


	4. And, Action!

Owen was sitting on the toilet, his hands covered in green slime and his mouth hanging open in horror. He was trying to think of what to do next. Here, he was, heavily pregnant in the bathroom at work, and he'd apparently just grown a makeshift vadge. If that wasn't enough, his water had just broken, which could only mean one thing.

The "baby" was on its way.

Owen cleaned himself up and walked stiffly back out into the Hub. His face was white and his skin felt cold and sweaty.

"Hey!" said Jack. "What are you doing up? I thought I told you to sit down."

"Jack," Owen whimpered. "My water just broke. I think I'm going into labor."

"Your water?" Jack repeated.

"I've got a box. It's just grown in, between my balls and bum. I noticed that I felt itchy, and when I went to the bathroom, this liquid started rushing out of it."

"Okay. Are you having any labor pains or contractions yet?"

"No, not yet. But I think I'd better sit d– Agghhh!" Owen suddenly cried out and grabbed his lower back, wincing. "Shit! I spoke too soon." He hissed in pain and went over to the sofa, where he gingerly sat down.

Ianto, Tosh, and Gwen rushed over. "What's the matter? He's not going to actually _have_ the baby, is he?" asked Gwen.

"Not on the freshly-vacuumed sofa, he isn't!" declared Ianto, who rushed off to find a piece of plastic sheeting to put down beneath Owen.

"Jack, when is that surgeon from UNIT getting here?" Owen moaned. He screamed as another contraction racked his body.

"Owen, I think it might be a little too late for a surgical removal," Jack observed grimly. He started helping Owen remove his pants.

"Whhaaaat! You mean I'm going to squeeze this out between my legs? Are you daft? I'm not built for that! My pelvis will snap in two! Oh, God, I can't do this! I can't have a baby." He was breathing heavily and sweating profusely.

"We'll think of something. Lie down on your back, Owen," instructed Jack gently. His mobile rang and he answered – it was the UNIT surgeon. "Good! Come right down," Jack said into the phone. "Well have to improvise. His body's gone into labor." A sudden scream from Owen confirmed this as Jack closed the phone.

"Oh, I feel like I'm gonna puke," moaned Owen. "And my back! It's breaking! Oh God, I can't take any more of this."

"Hang on, Owen. It's going to be okay," said Tosh, laying a hand on his heaving shoulder.

"Shut up!" hissed Owen, tears streaming down his cheeks. "It's NOT going to be okay! It's never okay! Baby notwithstanding. I can't ever catch a break, and I feel like I'm going to die. Suzie was right … Torchwood gets all the shit, all the alien shit, and I get all the human shit. That's all my life is, is shit." The tears were now freely flowing.

Tosh had gone very white. She looked she was about to start crying too.

"Oh, Owen," said Gwen. "I'm sorry."

"No! _You_ shut up! _You_ don't get to say anything!" He moaned again and arched his back. The last person Owen wanted sympathy from was Gwen. Sure, she was a hot piece of ass, and she'd been good for a few fucks, but they both knew that she didn't really care about him, not properly.

Tosh put pillows beneath his neck and the small of his back. She cradled Owen's sweaty head in her hand and gave him a cool drink of water.

Meanwhile, the UNIT surgeon had arrived. "Boy, are we glad to see you, Dr. Schertt," said Jack, pumping his hand. "Captain Jack Harkness. Thanks for coming by on such short notice. We have a bit of an emergency, as you can see."

Rhett Schertt was a generic looking, nondescript brown-haired man in his early thirties. He wore a white lab coat over his UNIT uniform and was carrying a black doctor's bag, filled with all sorts of unsavory sharp instruments.

"I'd say," replied Dr. Schertt, as he quickly washed his hands at the nearby sink. He gently spread Owen's quivering knees. "I've removed several parasitic growths before, but this one takes the cake. Looks like it's doing a pretty good job removing itself, actually. It's unusual for a parasite to birth this way – usually they just tear their way out."

"It IS tearing its way out!" cried Owen.

"Well, yes, there's going to be some tearing, but I think you'll be okay," replied the surgeon. "The organism has prepared your body for delivery. That's much more considerate than your average chest-burster." He administered a shot of very strong painkillers to Owen's rear. "Deep breaths, try to relax."

Owen sank back onto the couch, panting like a dog in heat. The plastic-coated sofa was now slippery with blood and bits of mucous. "Oh, that's … better," he moaned. He took another drink of water from the Styrofoam cup Tosh held.

The labor proceeded quickly. Soon, Owen was dilated enough to push, and after a short period of heaving, grunting, and loud moaning, the baby popped out in a rush of blood-tinged green fluid.

It was small, about the size of a very young housecat, and it was tightly bundled in a slimy gray-green membrane. For a few moments, it didn't move, and the onlookers all wondered if it was stillborn. But then it quivered violently, and a sharp claw broke and slit the surface.

Torchwood watched in horror, curiosity, and disgust as the alien baby emerged from its membrane.


	5. Special Delivery!

The newborn infant vaguely resembled its alien parent. The parent was humanoid and reptilian in nature: it was covered in olive-green and brown scales, and it had a sort of a lizard-like face, a tail, and very sharp teeth.

The baby could best be described as a reptilian blob. It was rather like a cross between a piglet and a cartoon dinosaur – its snakelike nose was turned up a bit, and its chubby, roly-poly body was covered in very smooth green scales. It had a very wide mouth and no neck. The tiny stub of a tail was turned up at the end like a shaved Pomeranian's.

The creature blinked a few times and stared up at the group with large, yellow eyes. It struggled to sit up, its tiny limbs quivering with the effort. It made a sort of grunting, whimpering noise, and then held its little hands out, as if pleading to be held. The team was all thinking that it was rather cute, but nonetheless was afraid to touch it.

"Well, would you look at that!" exclaimed Dr. Schertt enthusiastically. "I was expecting something monstrous, not this cuddly little critter."

"What is it? Is it alive?" asked a weakened Owen.

"Just stay put, Owen," instructed Jack. "Doctor, I'd be careful if I were you."

"Oh, come on! Look at him!" The baby's eyes were wide with purported innocence, and it stretched out its little arms farther towards the doctor. "I've never seen anything quite that cute!" He picked up the slimy, little wide-eyed alien, cradling it in his arms. For a few moments, the baby seemed to nestle down into the surgeon's arms, making a noise like a sigh of contentment.

Then it snapped open its outrageously enormous mouth and sank its needle-like fangs into the doctor's face.

The doctor let out a muffled scream and everyone jumped back in shock. Gwen screamed. Jack grabbed hold of the creature and tried to wrench it away, but it was stuck fast. Blood was gushing down the doctor's body as he flailed helplessly, desperately trying to tear off the monster. The team instinctively grabbed their guns, but it was too risky to shoot with all three so close and moving so quickly. The struggling group slipped in the blood and collapsed onto the concrete floor. And after those few moments of absolute horror and bloody struggle, the creature released its jaws, only to open them wider and cleanly bite off the doctor's head.

It swallowed the entire head in a sickening gulp. The alien seemed to be satiated. It belched, yawned and lay down on the floor, its stomach bloated with its gruesome first meal. Within moments it had fallen asleep in a pool of human blood, breathing evenly and snoring lightly.

There were several moments of absolute silence. Everyone was too stunned to react. The doctor's body lay on the floor, silently bleeding onto the concrete. The limbs jerked a few times, and then lay still.

"And _that_," said Owen finally, "is why I never went into obstetrics."


	6. A Little Bit Safer

Owen stood in the cell corridor, hands firmly in the pockets of his black leather jacket. On the other side of the glass lay the creature he had delivered two days ago. Owen didn't know if there was something in the atmosphere inimical to its constitution, or if it wasn't getting the proper nutrition, but it was definitely dying.

After the creature's appalling nascence, Jack had phoned UNIT while Tosh and Ianto began cleaning up the mess. The UNIT director was very upset, but not really surprised – like Torchwood, UNIT also had high employee mortality rates. Owen was basically ok, other than being both extremely sore and tired. Jack helped him clean himself up and loaned him a fresh set of clothes before sending him to sleep on the couch in his office.

Since then, the alien had been scanned, examined, poked, prodded, and tested – very carefully, of course – but other than some physiological observations, the team hadn't been able to discover much about it. It was clearly reptilian, but it appeared warm blooded. Its blood was not iron-based, but no one could determine what element or elements constituted the black ichor drawn from its veins. No one knew what planet it came from or what species it was. Consequently, they couldn't figure out exactly what it needed to eat, and so they had been feeding it meat pumped full of the vitamins and minerals found in the human body. And yet it grew weaker by the hour.

It was slumped in the corner of the cell, panting quietly. It hadn't moved from that spot for a day. At first, it threw itself against the glass and ran around the enclosure when not sleeping, but after about twenty four hours, it began to grow weaker. Now it wouldn't even take the meat offered it. It would only lie on its side and stare out of the glass with glazed, cloudy eyes.

Owen didn't feel sorry for it. Not because it didn't deserve sympathy, but because he just didn't care. He knew it was basically innocent, that it was probably just reacting the way all babies of its species reacted upon birth. After all, it was hungry and it had eaten the food it thought was being offered to it. And if he were Gwen or Tosh, he might pity the misplaced alien baby, the orphaned creature with a dead mother who'd been wrenched from its own world by the rift. But Owen had learned the hard way that the universe was too full of sorrow and senselessness to even try to process all of it. This creature's plight did not concern him, not anymore. To his cold and bitter eyes, it was just a lump of expiring flesh, a dangerous animal dying in its cage. He was glad it had gone for the UNIT doctor and not him. He was still alive, and when you work for Torchwood, simply staying alive is a feat in itself.

He mostly felt relief that the episode was over. When the thing finally died, he would preserve it in a jar of formaldehyde for future tests. UNIT's scientists would probably want to take a look at it, too.

After a while, Jack came down into the prison and stood next to Owen. He observed the creature in silence for a few moments before commenting.

"I don't suppose it has very long, does it?"

Owen shrugged. "It certainly looks like it's dying. Good riddance."

"It _has_ caused a lot of trouble," Jack stated grimly. "You know," he said after several moments of reflection, "sometimes I catch myself thinking of the Hub as a safe-house, separate from the outside world. I delude myself into thinking that the real danger is outside, on the streets of Cardiff, and that Torchwood is defended against that. I guess it's self preservation on my part – you go crazy when you expect danger everywhere. But then something like this happens to shatter that delusion, and I remember that nowhere is safe."

Owen nodded. "Nowhere is safe," he repeated.

"But places can be made saf_er_," noted Jack. "And that's what you and I do. That's what Torchwood is for. I know it seems like the world is a terrible place, that there's nothing in this life but death and destruction – and it is a thankless job to deal with all of that, but it is important. Torchwood is important. And so are you. You matter, Owen. What you do makes a difference."

Owen was cold and unresponsive. "It doesn't seem that way," he observed quietly.

"You're right," Jack agreed sadly. "It doesn't." He turned and went back upstairs, leaving Owen alone in the dim underground corridor.

Owen stood there for a while thinking about what Jack had said. After a while, the infant breathed its last and closed its eyes for good. Owen recorded the time of death in his voice log, and that was that.

Afterwards, Owen went back upstairs to join his teammates and resume the endless task of making the Earth a little bit safer.

- The End -


End file.
